Reconstructing Us
by Mrs. Crocodile
Summary: "Peeta and I grow back together." Their first steps back in the aftermath.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the situations or characters of The Hunger Games Trilogy. (Obviously.) No money is being made off this story. Please do not sue me.

**Author's Note:** Here's the thing. I don't have my Catching Fire book. I lent it out before Mockingjay (the book) came out, and I never got it back. So I haven't read it in a while, but I've seen the movie recently. And I've re-read the other two (skimmed). If you find inaccuracies, it's probably because of that. I'm not a movies only person, but for CF, I kind of am.

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**Title: Reconstructing Us****  
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Summary: "Peeta and I grow back together." Their first steps back in the aftermath.

Spoilers for: All of it.

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_He has his hands around my neck, squeezing the life out of me. But his face is so gentle, so sad, so broken. He is begging me to kill him. It's the only way to keep everyone safe, didn't I see that?_

_I look over at my hand and notice that I'm holding a fistful of nightlock. I could, I_ should_ shove the berries into his mouth. It would be easy; it would put him out of his misery, and I'm thinking about it. Then he sees them too. Do it, he pleads, just end it._

I wake up with a start. Without even thinking about it, I reach out for Peeta, but he isn't there. I know that. He has been back in District 12 for a couple weeks now. He knows who he is now, and he know who I am. And we are . . . okay.

But he doesn't trust himself. At night, when the nightmares come, what if he forgets in that moment? What if he hurts me? What if he does more than just hurt me? I don't know how to reassure him. Not when I'm still having dreams like tonight's. The disturbingly refreshed memory of him choking me makes it impossible to deny possibility that something could go horribly wrong.

Still, I think it's worth the risk. Because at night, when the nightmares come, that is when I need him the most. Even when those nightmares are about him, or maybe especially when they are, I need him there to convince me that the worst is over, that things can get better now.

I lie awake for a while, debating my next move. I'm very tired and my eyelids are so heavy, but I can't let myself fall back into that. If it wasn't Peeta, it would be Finnick or Rue, or worst of all, Gale's bomb blowing away my sister. I do not know how to face that alone.

Haymitch might still be awake. He would either be drinking or passed out drunk. It's probably 50-50. I get up and pull on a robe, but I know I'm not going to Haymitch's house.

I hesitate before knocking on Peeta's door. I didn't bother to look at a clock, but I know it's late. Or early. Either way, there are no lights on that I can see. But I decide to knock anyway, loudly in case he's asleep. A second later, it occurs to me that I shouldn't have done that. Now he's going to think something is wrong. It's all still so fragile. It could all still go away.

A light goes on upstairs. A reasonable amount of time passes. Peeta doesn't run down the stairs, and when he answers the door, he doesn't look alarmed. Because he doesn't think that way. They took him and tortured him, hijacked and rewrote him, tried to strip away everything that was good about him, and when he gets an urgent knock on his door, he doesn't expect the worst. This is why I need him.

I don't say that though. I'm still not that good at knowing how to say things to him. "Did I wake you?"

There's a brief pause. "No." He's lying. His first instinct is to make me feel better about showing up unannounced in the middle of the night, and that's one of many things that tells me he's him again.

"Can I come in?" He stands aside for me and lets me into his front hall. "These houses are too big for one person," I remark.

"Haymitch seems to do okay."

Something in his tone tells me that he's just making conversation and not hinting that he wants me to leave. So I respond, "Haymitch is far from okay." I head for his stairs. "I can't sleep. I want to stay here." I expect him to protest, but I don't look back. Talking about this isn't going to work. He'll have good arguments, and I'll have no answer for them.

Up to this point, I've avoided mentioning that he promised he would always stay with me. Because that was before. And I know that he's not staying away for his own sake. If it weren't for the slight possibility that he might kill me, I'm pretty sure he would want me here. Those nights on the train weren't entirely one-sided. He once told me that his nightmares were about losing me and that he was okay when he realized I was with him. That was also before; his nightmares have probably changed.

But that's why he needs me too. The same way I need him there to remind me that we'll never be back in that position where I have to consider killing the boy with the bread before he kills me, Peeta needs me there to remind him that I'm not an evil mutt who killed his family. I think that's the worst of what he thought of me anyway. I never really asked for the specifics.

So I walk up the stairs, and Peeta follows me. I realize that I've never been to his room here before. That's so strange to me, all that time we spent together on the train and at the tribute center, and I've barely ever been in his home. It has the same layout as my house and Haymitch's house, and based on that, I have a pretty good guess where his bedroom will be. When I get to the top of the stairs, it's easy to find because it's the only room with the light on.

He doesn't say anything until we get there. "I'm not sure this is a good idea."

I know he isn't. I correct my assessment from before; Peeta doesn't expect the worst of anyone but himself. "Well, I am." His room is warm and homey, just like him. I take off my robe and hang it over the back of a chair. "So I'm staying."

Peeta considers this. "I have other rooms."

This reminds me of the empty bedrooms in my own house, and that is the last thing I want to think about. Instead I think about whether sleeping in one of his spare rooms would work for me. It's a temporary fix at best. I sit on his bed. "But then what would happen when you hear me scream?"

He hesitates for a long time. He knows what would happen. He would see that I need him, and he would stay, and we would end up in the same place anyway. He gives in without saying so by sitting down on the other side of the bed.

I scoot back and slowly lay my head on one of the pillows. Peeta gets up to turn off the light, and a few seconds later, I feel him lie down next to me on the bed. I want to rest my head on his chest, but I know better than to push it. I'm lucky enough that he's letting me stay here. It'll be easier to convince him tomorrow. As long as he doesn't try to kill me tonight.

Soon, I remember how tired I am. As I'm drifting off, somewhere between awake and asleep, I think I hear him say, "I'm glad you're here."

**END**

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**Author's Note:** I made the summary and title broad enough that there could be more. It doesn't mean there will be more, doesn't mean there won't be. It doesn't really mean anything. For now, this is enough. Later, I might revisit.


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